Swing Time
by wobbear
Summary: Apparently Aristotle once said “Hope is a waking dream.” My contribution to the Geekfiction Summer Reading Ficathon. GSR


**Swing Time **

**Author:** wobbear  
**Rating:** T (at most). Or maybe 'C' for corny.  
**Disclaimer**: They're not mine and never will be.  
**Timeline/Spoilers:** Starts just before _No More Bets_ (season 4), ends after season 7. This is both a prequel and a sequel to my fic _Bugsville__, OH_. Yes, really.  
**Author's note:** Big thanks to **PhDelicious** for finding time to beta this right before going on vacation.

**Summary:** Apparently Aristotle once said "Hope is a waking dream." My contribution to the Geekfiction Summer Reading Ficathon. GSR

* * *

**_May 13, 2004─Las Vegas, NV _**

The vista was green, but not a uniform color. Myriad shades from spring bud to British racing green floated in her vision, as dapples of sunlight filtered through leafy gaps. The oblique rays showed that the sun was low; the vividness of the hues spoke of dusk, rather than dawn.

The scene was moving, in a soothing regular swoosh. Closer it came, then after a tiny pause it receded, only to approach once more.

There were sounds too—birds chirping, water babbling and a gentle creak which flowed and ebbed in time with the changes in view.

Sara's focus changed. _Ah, a swing seat. That explained the shifting scenery._

She became aware of a warm pressure on her shoulders. A gentle surrounding softness, it held no menace. Her right flank was snug against by a heat-emanating body, while her left side felt slightly cooled by the wafting air as the seat swung to and fro. The combined effect was . . . wonderful. She was comfortable. No, more than that, she felt relaxed, light, optimistic, at peace . . . _happy_.

Sara eyes tried to veer right, to see who or what was beside her, but a sudden electronic bleeping intruded and the scene vanished.

Her alarm.

She reached out, feeling for the snooze button. She slapped it, shocked at the abrupt awakening, then lay back and waited for her pounding heart to settle. Eyelids firmly closed, she tried to bring back the dream. She could envision it clearly, until she tried to look to her right and . . . _nothing_.

Who had it been it by her side? It _had_ to be a person, because that had felt like an embracing arm around her shoulder. Unless─maybe a large dog had been sitting next to her, with a cat snuggled around her nape. Or . . . _It was just a dream. Really, did it matter?_

That feeling she'd had of being perfectly at ease in the moment, yet looking forward to the future, was tantalizing her. She'd never felt that before—maybe if she could take a mental photograph of the image, she could keep it close, store it in a safe corner of her mind, to bring out when she needed it most. Sara scrunched her eyes more tightly shut and delved into her subconscious one more time.

She just hadn't had quite enough time to see who it was. _Damn that alarm._

That was weird in itself. She _never_ slept through to the alarm. Either she woke after a scant four to five hours' sleep and tossed until she gave up and started to read, or her cell phone chirped, calling her to a scene.

She knew who she wanted it to have been beside her.

Grissom.

_Always Grissom_.

But if it _had_ been him, the dream made no sense at all. She and Grissom were barely speaking to each other these days. And yet . . . she felt a sense of serenity recalling the dream.

That was another strange thing. She _never_ had pleasant dreams, at least none that she remembered. Nightmares─oh, yes, nightmares a-plenty. All too vivid, those memories were.

Sara turned her head toward the nightstand and opened an eye. Time to get up, before the clock blared again. Canceling the snooze, she rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom to start her pre-work routine.

Work, she could do.

Work, she excelled at.

-----------------------------

Of course, the fates had decreed that she should have a bad night. Worse than bad. It was a waking nightmare. Not as gory as most of her nightmares, not as terrifying, but dark and chilling to the core. Soul-crushing after that hopeful awakening.

The lead CSI position had been cut, in favor of a lab machine, but not before Grissom had recommended Nick for the job. Nick─nice guy and all, an adequate CSI, but . . . Nick.

She had called Grissom on it while they examined Sam Braun's limo, and he'd come up with a completely ridiculous reason. _Since when had lack of ambition been a pre-requisite for promotion? _He wouldn't meet her eyes. Even he knew it was a lame answer. He was pushing her away, again.

_Late May 2004 _

A couple of weeks later she was driving home late in the morning, after an expected court appearance had been cancelled—there had been delays in empanelling a jury. Her route took her past Doolittle Park, near where that Indian taxi driver had been beaten to death by thugs on West Lake Mead Boulevard.

_That_ had been a better time; she and Grissom had been at ease with each other then. She had fond memories of them tracking the blood trail. Thinking back, she realized that two years had passed since that case.

Parking in the designated area, Sara got out and wandered over to the tree where they'd found the gun. The basketball court had been replaced by bocce courts, no doubt of more interest to the users of the senior center that bordered on the park. The children's playground was still there though.

It seemed that the record high predicted for the day had scared off the moms with pre-school children, so no-one was there to care that she was over 12. She wasn't quite ready to go home yet, and she could escape back into A/C as soon as she'd had enough. Sara contemplated the slide, then looked at the slim skirt of her court suit. _Not a good idea._

_The swings then._ Someone before her had knotted the chains of the far swing to pull it higher off the ground─perfect for her long legs. Settling into the rubbery sling seat, she pushed off and quickly gained momentum, flinging her legs forward then tucking them back. Her muscle memory easily recalled the technique, although it had to be 20 years since she'd been on a swing.

She lost herself in the to-and-fro motion, enjoying the breeze on her face and the swooping freedom. Out of nowhere the dream came back to her. With a firm grip she grabbed on to that feeling of hope, with her thrusting legs she aimed for the future and concentrating on the movement her stresses seemed to melt away.

Again she thought of Grissom, and how surprised she'd been─once her shame and embarrassment had faded─at his reaction to her near DUI. Instead of the disappointed remonstrations she'd expected, he had been gentle with her, a little sad perhaps but empathetic, uncritical. He'd taken her hand, taken her home and he'd talked haltingly of PEAP counselors, putting this behind her, remembering to eat when she had a drink. Then he'd trailed off, perhaps thinking that he had gone too far. But it was fine, he was fine and Sara had told him that. At the door when he was leaving, he'd lifted his hand and left it hovering above her shoulder, near her cheek for a moment, before shaking his head and resting his hand on the door jamb. She wondered about that as she swung.

_February 3, 2005 _

The first time she brought him with her to the park was at the end of a long, long day when she mouthed herself off into suspension and finally revealed the family horror she'd concealed for so long. In the face of Grissom's steadfast refusal to leave her side, her resistance eventually crumbled. After she had cried herself dry and twisted Grissom's handkerchief into a moist rope, he had made her chamomile tea and then insisted they get out of her apartment for a while. Sara had drawn the line at going somewhere to eat─saying she looked a wreck and wasn't hungry anyway─and shyly asked if he would come with her to a special place instead.

She gave him quiet instructions to the park and, when they arrived, observed as he remembered it. She simply murmured "I like the swings" and headed toward them. Grissom followed her over, hands in pockets. He stood scanning around for a while, then sat astride the swing next to her. She actually found herself laughing as he followed her movements like a one-person tennis crowd. He was so close; he must have been getting dizzy. Indeed, he soon gave up, and moved to sit facing the same way as she was.

Once she had had enough, they left the swings and meandered round the park, talking sporadically as they recalled the case they'd worked there, avoiding any more difficult subjects. When they were both about to drop from exhaustion, he drove her home and they went to sleep in their respective beds.

That was the first time.

_April 28, 2005 _

The next time was after she'd been attacked in the mental hospital. He had respected her desire not be taken off the case, but insisted she finish the shift early and go home, start again the next day. He'd decided to drive her directly home from the hospital, and the park was on the way. She had realized it when she saw the route they were traveling, and once he saw the sign at the park entry, he pulled over. "D'you want to . . ." He waved in the direction of the play area

Grissom wouldn't swing himself, saying it hurt his knees, but she suspected that was cover for not wanting to look ridiculous. She _knew _she looked silly, her lanky legs drawn up as she sought to keep them off the ground, but had long since gotten past that. This was her own personal therapy, it was easy, free and convenient. What she looked like didn't matter.

He sat on the bench near the seesaw until he noticed she wasn't moving as vigorously as he'd seen the time before. Questioned about it, Sara eventually admitted she'd wrenched an ankle in the attack, and it hurt to thrust out in the usual way. He frowned at her having concealed the injury, then shocked her completely, saying "I'll push you." He first attempted to push the swing itself, but there wasn't much to grip. So he gently pushed her below the shoulders, shoving more forcefully once he was assured of her hold.

When he took her home, he silently followed her in, pressing her down onto her sofa with the sore ankle up. He packed ice in a plastic bag and wrapped it in a towel and applied it to the now swollen joint. After stern instructions to stay there at least an hour, he departed.

_May 19, 2005 _

After they'd managed to rescue Nick from that box in the ground and Sara had taken evidence back to the lab with Greg, she was driving home when she felt the swing calling her. The east was glowing as the sun began to rise; she knew the park would be empty at that hour. Lost in thoughts of how close they'd been to failure, she parked almost on auto-pilot and trudged head down on the familiar path to the play area.

"Hi."

The soft voice made her literally jump, and she felt for the gun she'd left back in her locker.

"Sorry, it's just me." Grissom emerged from the shadow of a big cottonwood, hands raised in apology. He tilted his head to the side and smiled wearily at her. "Sorry," he repeated, "I didn't mean to startle you. I was leaning against the tree trying to get up the nerve to try out your swing."

She flung out an arm, declaring, "Be my guest."

He looked skeptically at her and the swing, but slowly made his way over and sat on the seat. Head bowed, he peered up at her through his eyelashes as he pushed himself gently to and fro, feet still planted firmly on the ground.

She was beyond tired, they both were, but he was being too coy for her liking. "Man, you've got it bad. It's 6 am! There's no-one around but me. I won't watch─will that help?"

At his sheepish nod, she strode over to sit on the wooden bench at the far side of the play area, facing away from the swings. She squirmed around once he started moving to watch his progress. He was doing all right, except for the furtive glances left and right to check that no-one was watching. Thankfully his neck was too stiff after all the trials of the night to turn very far. She got up from the bench and approached stealthily, perfectly timing a big shove. It elicited an undignified squawk from Grissom, but she'd already checked that his grip was firm. He submitted to a couple more pushes, then announced, "That's enough." She stood back and watched as he slowed, dragging his feet in the sand as brakes.

Soon he stood up and turned to face her, unable to hide the silly grin on his face. "Okay, I admit, that was . . . fun."

Sara returned his grin, immensely pleased.

"Let's do something different now." He pointed in the direction of the seesaw and walked toward it. She followed, wondering at this quirky man. Although he had lost some weight, he had to tip the scales at least 60 pounds heavier than her.

"Griss . . ." she started. He looked around, querying. "The weight disparity . . ."

He heaved his shoulders in an exaggerated sigh, "Sara, just humor me, okay? Sit down there, please." He indicated the end resting on the ground and as he spoke he moved toward the opposite end, and pushed down on the upended plank. Sara's end rose to the level where she could easily step over it. Feet on the ground and clutching the handle, she held her end up, and smiled bemusedly as she waited to see what Grissom would do.

Instructing her not to move, he straddled his end just in front of his handle, then he started edging awkwardly forward. Watching, Sara started to smile. It would work, if he got the distance right.

When he had moved a couple of feet to the middle he announced, "All right, let's try."

Both lifted their feet, putting their full weight into play, but Sara started to rise skyward so he began to shuffle forward once more. On the second try they achieved a shaky balance.

Sara's small celebration almost upset the equilibrium, while Grissom watched with a satisfied smile.

He waited until she was looking at him, then he spoke. "I know you didn't need a physics demonstration. I wanted to show you something I've finally figured out." His tone was calm and serious.

Sara let go of the seesaw handle, her legs dangling just above the ground, and hung on his next words.

"I realized that to improve our relationship, I need to allow myself to get closer to you."

For Sara that day, the seesaw was better than the swing.

-----------------------------

From then on, they worked on keeping their balance and moved ever closer. As close as two people can get.

**_August 3, 2007─Gambier, OH _**

It was nearly dusk, the last rays of sunlight making a green and gray kaleidoscope of color, dappling through leafy green trees, catching on gray-brown patches of bark.

Grissom had returned a few minutes ago from his first day of teaching a summer course at Kenyon College. It had gone well, but he wasn't ready yet to re-hash the day. So they were quietly sipping the Nautilus Sauvignon Blanc that Sara had found at the local store. In a while they planned to walk up the hill to eat at the Village Inn.

They were sharing a large wicker swing seat on the front porch of their borrowed house. She was sitting Indian-style, Grissom's left arm wrapped around her shoulders. He radiated warmth, which counteracted the slight cooling breeze caused by the motion of the seat.

A male cardinal proclaimed his territory with his distinctive trill, while in the background the Kokosing River burbled over its stony bed. Grissom's legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, one heel resting on the wooden boards. An occasional flexing of his knee generated their gentle to-and-fro. The suspended chain links grated softly with the movement.

Sara found words coming out her mouth unbidden. "You know, I've seen this before, been here before, in my mind. Years ago."

"What d'you mean? A déjà vu kind of thing?"

Sara shifted, uncrossing her legs and folding them to her left, leaning her head onto Grissom's shoulder. She could see him now. "Ha, yeah, but more of a déjà-dream. But I wasn't sure if you were there."

He kissed her forehead and settled back. "I'm here now. Tell me."

And she did. She told of the dream, the warm form the she couldn't quite see, and the feeling of hope she had experienced nonetheless.

"So, that's how your swing therapy started? I did wonder, but at the time it seemed best to just go with the flow. And now . . . here we are."

He grasped her right hand securely in his as they both remembered the long months of swing time, reflecting on how far they'd come.

They swung in companionable silence for a while. Then Grissom cleared his throat, but didn't speak. Curious, Sara nudged him gently with her elbow. "What were you going to say?"

"Uh . . . nothing."

Sara swung her legs forward, putting her bare feet down on the wooden boards of the porch to stop the swing's movement. "C'mon, what about our pact to be more open with our thoughts and feelings? We've both been doing so well. Don't go regressing on me." A serious tone undercut her warm expression.

Grissom looked over to the bird feeder on the right side of the front path and watched as a goldfinch, bright yellow in a sunbeam, pecked at sunflower seeds. Eventually he spoke. "You said that you were tired of me spouting other people's words all the time."

"That was just to get you to quit hiding behind quotations."

He nodded faintly. "Well, they're not my words, but they seem to fit what you were saying." He paused, looking at her a touch warily, then took the plunge. "Aristotle once said, 'Hope is a waking dream.'"

Sara didn't immediately reply, and he sneaked a glance at her. She seemed to be pondering it. She caught him looking at her and smiled swiftly. "Aristotle, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." He shrugged and, squinting his eyes into a small grin, added, "Us old guys have to stick together."

She knew that their age difference still ate at him sometimes, but there wasn't a lot she could do about it. "Griss, Aristotle would be . . . over 2,000 years old by now. You're just tired after your first day's teaching, and because of the schedule change."

"Yeah, you're right, as usual." Grissom rolled his shoulders gently, loosening the tension of the day, and then smirked in the darkening shadows.

"I have a line of my own if you'd prefer…"

He had that goofy glint in his eye again. He was going to make a joke, likely a terrible, corny pun. Sara groaned internally and resisted the urge to clamp her hand over his mouth. She waited, crossing her legs beneath her once more.

He pursed his lips in preparation, then cocked his head.

"Come on, get it over with already," she muttered.

"Hope swings eternal."

She rolled her eyes and bopped him lightly on the nose.

Grissom lifted his left arm to brush her face then settled it back around her shoulders. With a nudge of his heel, he set the swing back in motion.

THE END


End file.
